


A Brooklyn Snow Story

by sphekso



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Baby It's Cold Outside, Baby it's cold inside too, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Beginnings, Fluff, M/M, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-World War II Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, Protective Bucky Barnes, Roommates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-30
Updated: 2016-07-30
Packaged: 2018-07-27 16:44:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7626244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sphekso/pseuds/sphekso
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a snowstorm traps them in their apartment, Steve finds himself seeing his old pal Bucky in a new light. His emotions are forced to the surface by Bucky's efforts to keep him as warm as possible, and as his caring draws them closer, it becomes apparent that there might be something deeper at work.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Brooklyn Snow Story

**Author's Note:**

> This is my very first Stevebucky fic, so I'm a little nervous about it. But here goes nothin', right? I hope you guys enjoy it!

Steve had always liked watching Bucky sleep. With his usual tough-guy demeanor—even as cheerful as he would get around Steve—he never really let his guard down while he was awake. Sleeping, though, he looked almost innocent. Not quite, but almost. Sometimes he snored or drooled, but that didn’t bother Steve one bit. It was just Buck being Buck, and Buck being Buck was comforting beyond measure.

Today Bucky wasn’t snoring _or_ drooling. He was just snoozing on his left side with a slight smile on his face. Steve sat on the edge of his own bed, with his bony elbow on his knee and his chin propped up by his hand. He was debating waking his friend up. He had some news, but he didn’t want to pull him from whatever dream was making him smile to deliver it. Still, it was important and time sensitive, so with a sigh he leaned forward, reached out for Bucky’s shoulder, and gave it a shake through the sheets.

It never took much effort to wake him, and today was no exception. His smile grew a little wider when he saw Steve. He always seemed most relaxed around him, but that was understandable given how long they’d known each other. “Why’d you wake’m?” he grumbled as he blinked the sleep from his eyes.

“It’s snowing,” Steve said.

“So?” Bucky stretched out, his bare arms emerging from the sheets to reach up over his head.

Steve tried his best not to stare at the way his muscles moved. “So it’s snowing _a lot_ ,” he said. “We’ll get stuck in here if we don’t… Y’know.”

“If we don’t leave?” Bucky sat up, causing the sheet to fall away from his chest completely and expose his undershirt.

“Then we should at least get supplies,” Steve said. “We might be here a while.”

Bucky groaned. “By _we_ you mean _me_ , don’t you.” It wasn’t really a question. While Steve would never admit to it, they both knew he couldn’t be exposed to the elements like that. “All right then,” Bucky said. “I’ll get more oil. And beans again? You like beans.”

Steve nodded. “If you don’t mind. If you want something else, we could…”

“Relax. You know I’m happy getting anything you want.” Bucky swung his strong legs over the side of the bed and stood up. “Dang,” he said. “Floor’s cold.”

“And it’s colder outside. You should take my jacket too.”

Bucky deadpanned, “And what, use it as a scarf?”

Steve forced a weak smile. “Yeah. Guess I wasn’t thinking.”

“Aw, chin up,” Bucky said. “I was only joking. But I’ll be fine, and we’ll get this place warmed up in no time when I’m back.”

“With beans?”

“Yes, Steve, with beans. But the oil’s more important.” Bucky walked over to the beat-up chest he kept his clothes in and fished around until he found something warm.

Steve wasn’t sure what that something was other than red, because the second Bucky’d pulled it out he’d started stripping out of his underclothes, and Steve couldn’t watch that. Bucky wouldn’t care if he did—he wasn’t a shy man, especially around Steve—but lately Steve felt something _different_ seeing him in states of undress. It was a kind of _different_ he didn’t want to think about, so he did his best to prevent himself from feeling it at all, which is how he ended up turned around and staring at bare wallpaper.

“Something interesting about the wall?” Bucky asked.

Steve turned back to him and was thankful to see he’d finished buttoning his shirt—red and black flannel—and was in the process of fastening his corduroy trousers. Steve’s mood sank at what he saw. “Your pants are torn,” he said.

“It’s just the knee, Steve. Don’t worry about it.”

Steve shook his head. “No, I’m supposed to take care of things like that. I’m supposed to take care of…” He trailed off. “It’s just the only thing I can do. Sewing and cooking and… Womanly stuff, I guess.”

Bucky stepped up to him, took his head in both hands, and stared down at him. Steve knew it was only to get his attention, but God if it didn’t give him that _different_ feeling he tried so hard to avoid. “You’re not womanly, Steve. Never could be. You’re just different. You were—“

“I was born special. You’ve told me a thousand times. I never _feel_ special, though.”

Bucky let go, but Steve could’ve sworn he saw him dart a glance at his lips before he did.

“Be safe,” Steve said. “It’s piling up out there.”

“Always am,” Bucky replied. Steve hadn’t noticed him carrying it, but he held his jacket up and looped it around his neck with a silly grin on his face. “See? Makes a fine scarf.”

Steve couldn’t help but grin back. Bucky’s smile was infectious. Bucky pulled on his boots and swung open the door to their little one-room apartment. Steve called after him, “Be safe!” again, Bucky gave him a thumbs-up, and then he was gone.

Steve felt a little wave of emptiness pass over his belly as he so often did when Bucky left his side. Bucky was all he had, and his emotions knew it just as well as his brain did. Lately, though, there was something more _urgent_ about that shock of emptiness. It had to do with the new feelings he had when he looked at his friend—even in ways that had never affected him before, like simply noticing his bare arms.

He could easily trace when it all started. He’d gotten sick last month—worse than usual—and his fever had made him sweat through his sheets ‘til they were soggy. Bucky had been perfectly calm about it, and he’d lifted Steve up and remade his bed with the clean sheets from his own bed. He’d slept on a bare mattress until Steve was better. _That_ was how it started: Something so simple as a change of sheets. But knowing when things started didn’t help him understand the feelings themselves. That was another layer entirely.

He flopped down in their single plush love seat, which utterly consumed him as soon as he hit it. It didn’t have much in the way of support, and he wasn’t big enough to make a proper seat out of it, so he mostly thought of it as Bucky’s chair. Buck always laughed if he tried to sit in it, anyway, so he usually never attempted it, but right now he wanted to feel a little closer to his friend while he was away. If that meant being swallowed and digested by a monster of a chair, then so be it.

While he was pondering that, the door slammed open, and he shot to his feet, ready to fight. He raised his fists—guard up—until Bucky stomped through the doorway. “Easy, killer,” Bucky said, holding up his hands in surrender. “It’s just me.”

Steve dropped his fists. “You didn’t go to the store?”

“No,” Bucky said. He tugged off his boots, which Steve noted were completely free of snow. “Can’t get outside. We’re already stuck.”

“Snowed in, huh?” Steve crossed to the window and looked outside. There was nothing out there but a blanket of white. “Rats.”

“You should’ve woken me sooner,” Bucky said. “Why didn’t you?”

“I, uh…” Steve blushed hard. “I just thought you looked peaceful. Didn’t want to disturb you.”

Bucky tightened his jaw and regarded him with suspicious eyes. “All right, then… But, peaceful? Didn’t know you paid so much attention to…”

Steve looked away. “I don’t, I mean, I do, but—you just, I dunno, it was just really obvious, and—“

Bucky cut him off with a good-natured laugh. “Don’t worry about it. We’ve got more pressing things to worry about.”

Steve felt the freezing wood under his feet. “Like the cold?”

“Like the cold,” Bucky agreed. “We’re almost out of oil as it stands, and—“

“No, not almost,” Steve said. “There’s not any left.”

“None?”

“I didn’t worry you with it ‘cause I figured you’d go to the store today.”

“You really should’ve woken me up. There’s no telling how long we’ll be in here, and with your health…” Bucky shook his head. “I worry about you, Steve.”

“You don’t have to!” Steve burst out a little too loudly. He lowered his voice and added, “Sorry. I just mean… I can handle myself.”

“I know you think you can,” Bucky said, a little too loudly himself, “and I wish it was true, but you _know_ you’re fragile! Dammit, I’ll just dig my way through that snow to get you what you need. I’ll—“

Bucky started for the door again, but Steve reached out to grab his arm through his jacket. Bucky spun to look at him. They locked eyes, and just stood there for a moment breathing hard and staring at each other, Bucky’s mouth half open, Steve’s closed tight, doing nothing but _gazing_ until finally Bucky pulled his arm away. Steve felt very, very _different_ now, and he couldn’t help but think Bucky had felt _different_ during that shared moment, too. Otherwise he would’ve broken it sooner.

“Sorry, pal,” Bucky finally said. “I got a little carried away.”

“It’s fine,” Steve said quietly.

“No, it’s not. I can tell when you’re not fine, and you’re really sure not fine right now.”

“Maybe. But I’ll live.”

“Living isn’t enough for me,” Bucky said. “I want you to be happy, not just alive. Got it?”

Steve looked up to find Bucky smiling at him again. This time, though, the smile seemed warmer somehow. It reached up to his eyes in a way that Steve had only seen a few times before. Maybe a couple times back at the orphanage, once or twice since, and… when he’d changed his sheets last month. His eyes had been warm like that then. “Buck?” Steve asked.

“Yeah?”

“You ever think… Gosh, this sounds stupid, but you ever think we’ll stay like this forever? Living together?”

Bucky’s brow knit and he paused in thought like he’d never considered it before. “Well, I guess I expected we’d find good gals and… The whole marriage thing.”

“But one of us would get married first. And then…”

“And then the other would be alone,” Bucky finished. His smile completely faded. “Why bring this up when we were just talking ‘bout heating oil?”

Steve shook his head. “It’s nothing. It just occurred to me, is all. I know you’ll find your lady before I will, so I need to learn to take care of myself on my own. That’s all.”

“Pal,” Bucky said, “I really never thought it over. But when we get married, we’ll do it together. Have a double wedding, say. They do those, don’t they?”

“I think so,” Steve replied. It wasn’t really the reaction he was looking for, but it was far from the worst outcome he could think of.

“So it’ll be just like usual. I never take a lady out without you having one too, do I?”

“No,” Steve said. “That’s real nice of you, Buck.”

“We’ve always had each other, and we always will. Steve, look at me.”

Steve turned his head up to find the warm smile back on Bucky’s face. He felt _different_ again, almost unbearably so, but he held his gaze. If Bucky wanted him to look at him, he damned well would.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Bucky said. He spoke the words measuredly, like he really wanted to get the message across. “I’m with you.”

A surge of _different_ rushed up through Steve’s body at that, and for the first time it gave him a conscious urge to do something. He wanted to lean up on his toes, pull Bucky down to him, and kiss him. He wanted nothing more in the world than the feeling of his friend’s lips on his own.

“Steve? You’re shaking,” Bucky said.

Steve hadn’t noticed it, but his whole body was trembling. He tried to steady himself, but it didn’t work. It seemed his body was just as horrified by his urges as his mind was.

“Are you already cold? God, I wish you’d woken me up. I even slept in. I know it’s my day off, but… God. Come here.” Bucky shrugged out of his coat and reached for Steve. He pulled him closer and draped the jacket around his shoulders. Steve shuddered at his touch and involuntarily closed his eyes. When he opened them again, Bucky had unwrapped Steve’s coat from his neck and put _that_ around his shoulders, too. “Better?”

Steve nodded, but he was still shaking, and—worse—he still wanted that kiss. It was an overpowering _need_ if anything, and it didn’t even leave room in his mind for the thoughts he should’ve been having, thoughts like: _But he’s a man. But he’s my best friend. But he’s my Bucky._

“It’s not even that cold yet,” Bucky said. “Please don’t be sick again…”

Steve just stared at the floor.

“Let’s get you into bed,” Bucky said. “Keep the jackets on. Do the buttons, all right?”

Steve dutifully buttoned both coats and followed Bucky to their beds, still in a haze of _want_ and _need_. But above all else, he felt _shame_ , because one of the thoughts had finally broken through: _But he’s my best friend._

“Come on, get in,” Bucky said. He turned back the covers and looked at Steve expectantly.

He got in—coats and all—yet still he trembled. “I’m not cold,” he said.

“What?”

“I said I’m not cold.”

“You’re sure shaking like a man who’s cold,” Bucky said with a hint of humor in his voice amid the overwhelming concern. “I’d make you some broth, but… The oil.”

“I’m not—“ Steve stopped himself. He was being stupid, stupid, _so_ stupid. He couldn’t let Bucky know why he was shaking. He had to play it cool, and that meant playing it cold. “No, I am. I’m chilly.”

“But still, you shouldn’t be shaking _this_ much. I’m not even freezing yet and you know how much of a wimp I am.”

A little hint of a smile crossed Steve’s lips. He _did_ know how much Bucky hated the cold, how much it even _scared_ him, and he was the only one who knew that. “Are you s-scared?” Steve asked, cursing himself for shivering too much on the second word.

“Not scared of the cold,” Bucky said. “But I sure am scared about you right now.”

A silence passed between them. “Buck?” Steve asked.

Bucky didn’t reply, though. He was busy doing… something.

Steve rolled on his side so he could see what that something was, and what he saw made his heart beat faster. “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing?” Bucky replied. He was gathering up the sheets from his bed again. “I’m getting you warm.” Before Steve could say much else he draped them over his shaking body and tucked them in. “There we go.”

“B-but you’ll be…”

“Hey, I’ll still have sheets. I’m gonna bunk with you, like back at the orphanage. Y’know, when you had nightmares?”

Steve choked out a little laugh. “Only you had to get back in your bed before sunrise.”

“Good thing there’s no one around to catch us now, huh?”

Bucky slid into bed before Steve could fully process what was happening. “You—“

“Shh, calm down. You’re working yourself up. With all the jackets and the sheets and me there’s no way you’ll still be cold. Unless you’re sick, in which case…”

“In which case what?” Steve asked in a hushed tone.

“Nothing. Maybe I do worry too much.”

The two of them lay on their backs staring at the cracked ceiling. There was barely enough room in the bed for both of them, and Bucky had to let one leg hang off the mattress. Steve had forgotten about the whole _kissing_ thing, and his shivers had calmed down, too. Just being close to his friend like that was enough.

“Steve?”

Steve turned his head to find Bucky looking right at him. He seemed almost nervous.

“Do you think… We’d be warmer if we…”

Steve swallowed hard. “If we what?”

“Roll over, okay?”

Steve rolled to his side, and a second later he felt Bucky press up against his back. His arm reached around to his chest. He was holding him. No one had ever held him like that before. “Buck? What are you doing?”

“I’m not sure,” he said. “But if it’s okay with you… Let’s just stay here for a while.”

The _different_ feeling came back, but it had changed into diffuse warmth now. It wasn’t surging so much as blanketing. And now that it wasn’t surging, there was room in his mind to think:

_But this is my Bucky._

Neither of them ever forgot how _different_ they felt in bed together, holding each other. Steve didn’t kiss him then, or even feel the need to. They were already close enough. They thought they’d never be separated again.

The war changed that.

But decades later…

Reunited…

In Bucky’s shitty hideout…

In his bed…

Away from the eyes of the others….

It’ll be time.

Steve will pull free from Bucky’s arm, turn to him, and finally kiss him.

It won’t feel _different_ to either of them.

It’ll feel _right_ instead.

And when it’s time to get closer? Bucky will get the top bunk.

And that’ll feel just as _right_ as the rest of it.


End file.
